


The Viper's Tale

by dragonswithjetpacks



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aeva Lavellan, Dalish, Lavellan Clan - Freeform, Lavellan Origin, Lavellan background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswithjetpacks/pseuds/dragonswithjetpacks
Summary: Whispers of Aeva Lavellan's former life have spread like wild fire across Thedas. Before taking on the role as Inquisitor, she had earned the title as The Viper, though no one truly knows what that means. Even those closest to her know little of the life she lead in her clan. This series details the chronicles from her childhood to her young adulthood that only the Lavellan Clan share with each other.The legend of The Viper, their feared Aeva, and their Inquisitor.





	1. Prologue

The Lavellan clan was known as the largest Dalish nomadic group in the Free Marches. Their migrations spanned between Wycome, Ansburg, and further west into the Green Dales. This is due to the treaties the clan had with the cities and villages (with the exception of Wycome), offering trade as the clan passed through the outer rims. The Lavellan clan is also well known for their dealings with shems. They are a good people, never resorting to banditry or thievery and take pride in the goods they provide for commerce. 

During the summer and autumn, the clan resides in a plain within near Ansburg. The game there is plenty and the merchants of clan venture out to obtain various necessities that might be needed for a harsh winter. Ansburg, though not as cultured as Markham, is rich with trade and provides a steady income for the clan. The hunters also embark on a journey during early autumn, seeking out game to either use for winter or trade for other important items. 

Once the hunters return, the clan then begins their trek further west into the basin along the Mintanter River. This is where they seek shelter from cold weather among the trees. Game is also easier here, although it may not be as large. And once the spring season comes, the herbs, fruits, and other useful vegetation are in full bloom. Fish are also bustling within the river. Once the mating season for fish and game alike is over, the clan ventures back to the east where they begin their trade routes once again. 

This Dalish clan is quite large and their camps can be seen from miles away. Especially when camped in the plain. Their aravels are large and leave tracks that are easily identified. Many say that the Lavellan clan is named as the "Traveling Elven City" because their caravans are so large. They may seem like an easy target for bandits. However, because the clan is so large, reports of attacks on this clan are scarce. Not only is their population the largest among the Dalish, but their headcount for mages is also unheard of. The Lavellan clan takes in all elven refugees, regardless of the reputation of their previous clan. 

Clan Lavellan is the most prosperous and by far the most friendly out of any within the Free Marches. And more than likely, all of Thedas. They work hard to achieve their well known and respected reputation. Not only do they work hard, but they also play hard. Most Dalish dine together when a day has ended. The Lavellan clan do not just dine, they feast. Music is always heard within a few miles of their camp and you can smell the meat roasting from their freshest kill. The Lavellan hunters are one of kind. And it would be unwise to cross any of them.   
Although the Lavellan clan openly trade with shems, they also value their traditional ways. They do not turn away from their elven culture and worship the gods just as any Dalish would. Their beliefs are sacred and they hold their traditions close during a day to day basis. Their way of life may not be conventional, but not let their modern ways fool you. They are fluent in elven and will curse you if you challenge their gods.


	2. Dragon 9:12 - 9:13 When Lovers Meet

Bramael Lavellan was a stoic man. He was a tall man. An adept man. A quiet man. He was tanned from his long days of hunting in the sun on the plain. That tan seemed to maintain throughout the winter, only fading slightly before the clan migrated back west for the winter. His hair was long and dark and he kept it in a messy bun on the back of his head. His eyes were just as dark, like black circles within two slits. Everything about him was sharply pointed; his chin, his cheekbones, his ears, his nose. He was thing but lean. And he was fast. Bram was by far the most skilled hunter of clan Lavellan. 

He was not only a hunter, but a tracker and a navigator. When the tall grass of the plain turned gold in the middle of summer, he could be seen gathering his hunting gear. He would whet the tips of arrows until he knew they would pierce the thickest of hide. He would mend his leathers until he was certain they would protect him from most dangers, and also allow him to maneuver freely. He would bargain with merchants and place bets with his fellow hunters with confidence of success during his next season. And when the grass turned orange, he knew it was time to part.   
Bram set out with a few select hunters. He always traveled east, knowing how dangerous it was to travel so close to Wycome, but also knowing that the mouths of the rivers provided fish. And with winter approaching, there would always be bears feeding on fish just before returning the forest for hibernation. There were times he would return injured, but there normally was no fuss. The clan's healer, Amaris, was quite accustomed to visits from Bram in the autumn. 

Amaris was everything Bram was not. She was sweet and kind. But she spoke her mind with a strong sense of stubbornness. She had long red hair and bright green eyes. Her skin was fair and her face was round. There wasn't a single member of the clan who did not know her. And they all loved her dearly. Not only was Amaris an incredible healer, she was also an expert alchemist. She made her own potions and poultices, often going into the wood to gather her own herbs.

But Amaris had not wed. She was nearing the end of her youth and had refused to take a husband. Many offered, but her duties as a healer kept her busy and she simply had no time for courtship. Bram had also remained unmarried, declaring his life was the hunt and his commitment was to the clan. And though the two had crossed paths many of times, they had never given a second thought to how they might feel about each other. 

That was until Bramael had become critically injured during a hunt. It was not his fault. It was an accident. A complete accident that could only be blamed by nature itself. Bram had been pursuing a rather large prey. And during that time, a storm had blown upon his group. Given his determination, there wasn't a chance Bram would turn back. Lightning had struck, and a tree had fallen directly on top of Bram, damaging his leg and ending his hunt. 

Amaris told him he was lucky. Though, he would not listen. Other than the injury to his leg, Bram had also sustained other minor injuries across various parts of his body. He was confined to bed rest for weeks, much to his dismay. He argued that Amaris should be able to heal him. To which she would reply that magic cannot mend broken bones. Nor could it sweeten his sour attitude. And in those moments, when Amaris would smile and tease him, he fell deeper in love. 

Of course, he did not realize it. He found her annoying and even accused her of being useless, though he knew as well as anyone that was not true. Bram sat in his cot with crossed arms, sitting silently, and waiting for the day of his release. Autumn had nearly passed and he had not brought the clan any sort of game. And with each day, he pleaded more and more for Amaris to relieve him of this depression he was held in. 

Now, Amaris began to take pity on Bram. She did the best she could to brighten his days, hoping they would become shorter and more delightful. But Bram refused her help. He only wanted to be better. So any opportunities she offered to get him out of bed were shot down with a scowl and a scolding. However, Amaris found other ways to ensure that Bram was properly entertained. She would read to the children in the infirmary, some being ill and others just enjoying her company. Others would not be able to notice, but Amaris knew Bram would listen to her stories. 

Eventually, Bram was well enough to begin his walking process. Amaris was not certain, but she feared Bram's leg was beyond her healing abilities. So she had the woodcarver shape two staves into crutches. It took some convincing, but Bram finally agreed to walk on them just until leg healed fully. Amaris took Bram everywhere. And to his surprise, her quiet hikes away from the clan for herbs proved to be a challenge. Before long, his strength had returned. 

Unfortunately, the damage to Bramael's leg was too severe. And Amaris was devastated to deliver the horrible news. While she expected Bram to lash out at her and call her a failure, she was surprised when he replied with compassion. During their time together, Bram had envied Amaris and her kindness. He saw her generosity and found that he had lacked empathy for his fellow clan members. Amaris was flattered and admitted Bram's courage inspired her to be more adventurous in her abilities. 

Needless to say, Bram was gladly willing to throw away his place as a master hunter if it meant he could marry Amaris. And he would have to walk with a limp for the rest of his life to remind him of that. The two were never happier and they married in the winter when the first snow fell.


	3. Dragon 9: 14 A Child of Secrets

Amaris was a beloved member of the Lavellan clan, though she had no family of her own. So it was a joyous moment when she announced that she had conceived a child with her husband, Bram. The clan was overjoyed and they were more than prepared. Amaris had taken an apprentice, Ghelen, a mage with no intent to do any sort of harm whatsoever. Ghelen had been working under his mentor for a few years before Amaris had wed and was confident in his abilities. However, he was squirmish and forgetful. A journal was kept on his persons at all times and he filled it with notes and lessons Amaris instructed towards him. He also sketched plants and flowers for medicinal and alchemical purposes. 

Meanwhile, Bram had managed to establish himself as a well known merchant among the villages the Lavellan clan held treaties with. His skills as a huntsman had given him a positive reputation. And the shems were more than eager to buy anything he had to offer. He also drew maps for the other hunters in the clan in order to keep the demands. He was hoping for a son so that he may pass down his legacy of hunting knowledge. But he was afraid of what he would receive. 

On the other hand, Amaris did not care what her child would be. Obviously, she was born a mage. And the clan, including Bram, assumed that the magical abilities ran deep within Amaris's lineage. However, Amaris was born to two elves who had no known hints of magic. The fact that Amaris was gifted was beyond them. It would have been a complete surprise if Amaris had a child with magical talent. 

Though, Amaris could not attest that her child would not wield magic. Upon revealing she had been hiding her gifts, she was asked to leave her clan. She did not discover the Lavellan clan until much later. And because she had been isolated without any sort of mentor, she was forced to find other means. No one in the clan spoke of it, but there were few who knew the truth behind Amaris's power. It may be for the greater good, but there were still those who would dismiss blood magic. 

It was not something she turned to very often. But there were times when Amaris was out of options and a fatal incident called for desperate measures. The clan would swear by some miracle, by some wish granted by Mythal, by some power beyond imagining that Amaris was a true healer. But Amaris had her demons. Quite literally. When she traveled alone in the wood, she would speak to them as if they were old friends. Of course, Bram never knew of her secret. And the demons would often grow jealous or anxious when she was away for too long. They caused her to have nightmares. And the further along she went into her pregnancy, the more difficult it became to function. 

Amaris refused to use her blood magic when carrying her child. She also dismissed the demons for fear they would have some sort of corruption on the baby. Little did she know, the stress of the constant worry put a strain to the rest of her body. There were times when she feared the worst. And for the longest time, she dared not to tell soul. But when the nightmares caused her sleepless nights, she made a decision to confide in her apprentice. Ghelen did not quite understand the severity of the matter. He only knew that if something happened to Amaris, he would know the reason.

And he would keep that secret until the day of his death. 

Seven months passed and Amaris struggled to keep herself healthy. Simple day to day tasks became increasingly difficult. She could no longer bend over. Her feet were far too swollen to consider shoes. And her senses were overreacting to anything she crossed paths with. Before long, the worry of her unborn child began to draw nightmares. One night, she pled to Bram to help her induce labor. She believed something was fatally wrong and if the baby did not arrive soon, it would not come into this world breathing. Bram would do anything for his wife. So he reluctantly agreed to stay behind the clan the next day. Keeper Deshanna left Amaris's apprentice, Ghelen, as an aide and ordered her First, Cyris, to keep a watchful eye. 

The next morning, the four prepared for the worst. The clan had ventured forward, the canvas of the last aravel disappearing at high noon. But Amaris had been in pain long before then. Her cries could be heard echoing across the plain. Bram held her hand tightly, losing all feeling from his wrist to his fingertips. Ghelen did the best he could to keep her comfortable all the while maintaining his efforts to stay calm for the birth of the newborn. Cyris, meanwhile, kept his distance and watched as Amaris grew even paler. 

By sunset, the three men became exhausted. However, they refused to give up. Cyris had noticed the crowning, first. Bram suddenly regained his stamina. And Ghelen was by far more aware than he had been the entire afternoon. Though, despite their efforts, the actual coming of the child did not go as well as they had anticipated. Blood poured from Amaris and her shouts of pain grew louder. The First had noticed the danger of the situation well before his companions. He readied a hand to strike at any moment. As the baby was removed from Amaris's body, the meadow fell silent.   
Amaris had shut down, her breathing dangerously shallow and her eyes fallen to the back of her head. Bram looked to Ghelen, who shook his head covered in blood with the stillborn in his hands. Cyris clutched his staff tightly. An eerie cold front blew across them, sending an icy flow down the back of their necks. Amaris mumbled in her unconsciousness, though no one could make out her words. They waited patiently until suddenly, she mouthed the word "Aeva". 

It was as if she summoned the Four Winds, themselves and a loud crack could be heard. The Veil had been torn. And a demon had made its way into Thedas as if no one could stop it. The pool of blood Amaris soaked in became active, churning and twisting into a snake-like figure. Ghelen was froze in his place as the blood on him, too, moved to the baby he held. Amaris was lifted into the air as if some unknown force held her in its arms. Bram shot back in fear of his own safety, jumping to his feet and to Cyris's side. The blood worked it's way from Amaris and the ground, around Ghelen, and into the baby. Without a second thought, Ghelen dropped it and scurried across the dirt as far as he could. The scream he let out would haunt not only Cyris and Bram, but himself for the rest of their lives. 

It was a spell of ancient times. It felt cold. And it felt heavy. And when it settled, Amaris fell to the ground. Bram did not hesitate, dashing back to her side to try and calm her convulsing body. The blood in the air that had not been used for the child fell and rested in spiral patterns on the ground around them. Ghelen rose to his feet with his hands clutched the hair closest to his scalp as he started to shriek every prayer in elven. Cyris had sheathed his staff to grip his shoulders, shaking him violently hoping he would grasp awareness. 

Meanwhile, Aeva's skin began to turn into the same rosy color of her mother's cheeks. She wrinkled her nose and clutched her fists, but she did not cry. She barely even moved as if she was also in wonder at her own survival. Though, no one seemed to notice the babe at all. Cyris began shouting commands for when Amaris turned, but Bram did not care. He cradled his wife, whispering elven words into her hair. Her eyes had not yet returned to their vibrant color and her skin was no longer pale. It was turning a different shade, entirely. Cyris had surrendered his attention to Ghelen just long enough to notice the air shift once again. He turned to Bram, pleading him to back away from his wife's body. 

Ghelen continued to shout, much to Cyris's dismay. Bram could hear the First's requests but could not tear himself away. Her face was no longer her and it started to twist in a foul manner. He held his hand, beckoning for a knife between pauses of an elven prayer. Cyris slipped the handle of an obsidian knife into his palm, knowing all too well the obligation Bram felt to end Amaris's suffering. He wanted to look away. But when he heard the soft murmurs of the baby and looked down to see her squirming restlessly on the ground, he forced himself to watch. There was no blood when the dagger went into the back of her neck. There was no cry out of pain. There was no scream from the demon within. There was only a moment of struggle just before her eyes finally closed. Not even a breath escaped her lips. It was simply over and the spirit inside was free to wander the Fade again. 

A moment of peace escaped them as quickly as it came as Ghelen suggested that the newborn babe be put to rest as well. He claimed it was damned, a stain on the clan and a shameful reminder of the life Amaris lived. Cyris was quick to come to the baby's defense, stepping over it with a hand tightly wrapped around his staff. He stood firm, claiming that it was Amaris's will and blood that allowed the babe to live. It was clear that Amaris had been keeping secrets and that no one had truly known her as well as well as they thought they did. She had given more than just her life to ensure the well being of her child and Cyris refused to allow her final wish to be denied. 

The knife fell gently to the ground as Bram found himself overcome with guilt. His uncontrollable sobbing prevented him from doing anything but collapsing to his knees. And while Ghelen still disagreed with his superior, there was truly nothing he could do to strengthen his case. Cyris picked up the baby, declaring it a little girl and naming It after Amaris's last words... Aeva.


	4. Dragon 9:15 – 9:19 A Clan to Heal

The travesty of Amaris's death affected many in Clan Lavellan. There were many that were close to the healer and even more so who were fond of her. Above all, the clan had suffered a great loss of a friend and now lacked a proper healer. Ghelen, who was traumatized by the incident, was not only insufficient in skill but was also unable to concentrate on his magical abilities without experiencing some sort of vivid memory of the terrible scene. It was urgent that the clan replaced Amaris with the growing population and the attention the clan was drawing with their increase in trade.  
Luckily, the Gods were in their favor as one of the forward scouts had followed rumors to what some villagers called a "backwoods witch". Geneva was an elven mage apostate that had left her clan long ago. Her age was unknown but her hair was solid black. Her face had no wrinkles but prominent lines when she frowned or smiled. Her magic was not like the traditional healing methods most mages had seen. She used many strange methods for returning health, using a combination of magi, herbs, and sometimes even insects. She did not use bandages but instead required a massive amount of moss that grew on the trees. It was a mystery where the elf had originated from as she would tell no one of her past.

Some whispered she came from a clan that ventured the marshes far to the west. Others claimed she traveled all the way from Antiva, though she has no accent. And few dispute she hailed from the Anderfels, which they felt explained her bizarre techniques. In truth, all the clan had known was what the scouts had informed them of. She had taken refuge in an area at the edge of the forest far north of Starkhaven nestled in the last patch of thicket before the land thinned. She was, indeed, a cold and distant woman with no compassion that should come naturally with being a healer. However, her strange spells were more than enough to consider her a medic of sorts. Convincing her was rather easy as she had suspected Starkhaven had been hunting her for some time as she traveled the northern border. She was simply counting down the days until she was found. Oddly enough, she was surprisingly calm about her entire situation and accept the clan's offer with a loud wicked laugh.

Though, it was apparent her companion felt differently about their situation. At Geneva's side was a city elf named Falarah who acted as her assistant. Her lack of posture and timidness suggested she could have been a slave. Then again, it could have been just an awkward quirk to her personality. Falarah was an odd sort, hesitating when spoken to and even stuttering in front of overly-confident acquaintances. Falarah could read and write, as could Geneva, and she spent her time gathering herbs and making note of their useful properties in a large leather bound book she kept looped onto her belt. The book also contained sketches of all sorts of plants and their various stages. She was rather good at drawing but kept her more personal works in a smaller book she kept in her breast pocket. She mostly kept to herself, taking notes and following her mentor when she was not venturing into the woods and plains for herbs. She later admitted she feared for her safety as Geneva would have either been killed or sent to a Circle at their capture while she was left, more than likely, alone.

Falarah was good with alchemy, but she was by far no mage. And although Ghelen had resorted to clouding his mind with excessive amounts of alcohol and whatever herbs could ease his pain, he grudgingly agreed to continue his studies under the new healer. The Keeper feared Geneva did not intend to stay with the clan forever. The witch had an agreement with the clan that happened to be beneficial to her for the time being and the Keeper knew she would leave if the opportunity arose. Ghelen would have to eventually become the healer the clan needed. He spent most of his time with the members of the clan that Geneva had tended to. Quite possibly more than Geneva, herself. He always camped a good distance away from the camp, though, hanging charms from tree limbs and painting glyphs out of paranoia that the demon of Amaris may come to haunt him. His disorientation from various substance abuse did not help, but the spells provided comfort when he finally fell unconscious at night.

For a time, Ghelen held tightly to the resentment he had for Cyris. For, he blamed the extremity of the situation entirely on him. Cyris was the most experienced mage to handle the matter and should have taken control of the situation before Amaris gave in to the demon. He knew the moment the Veil had opened. And he had done nothing. Cyris plead guilty to his charges willingly, but would not declare his actions wrong. If he had acted when Ghelen allegedly proclaimed he should have, Aeva would not have survived. And there was a good chance that Amaris's body would have reanimated as an abomination much quicker than it had, raising the possibility that all three elves would have been slain. Even after Ghelen was able to forgive Cyris and sanctioned his actions, he still accused him of reacting improperly, leaving him alone to be responsible for Amaris's death.

Though, no one placed blame on either of the elves for the death of Amaris. In fact, they praised them all as heroes as they came carrying back the baby of an impossible birth. However, the secret of that baby was never spoken. Not even the Keeper knew of the ritual Amaris performed in her last moments. In fact, after returning to the clan, Cyris had taken it upon himself to act as Aeva's watcher. Knowing he could not always be available, he forced Ghelen to swear an oath that no matter the cost, Aeva would live a happy life. Ghelen loved Amaris more than a mentor. Therefore, the little sanity he had left was happy to assist with looking after the girl. This was, of course, after Bramael had finally given in to his downward spiral.

Now, Bramael had a much more difficult time accepting the consequences of his wife's actions. He remained in shock for days as the clan took turns caring for his daughter. They all had thought he was mourning the loss of his beloved. While this was somewhat true, they did not know he was battling with himself whether or not he could raise the child as his own. Cyris and Ghelen saw this and knew if the situation called for it, one of them would be her guardian. Eventually, however, Bram embraced his position as her father. After all, there was little else for him to do as his hunting career was over and his wife was dead.

Aeva was not a difficult child. In fact, she was a rather delightful babe. She was quiet most times, only crying when she was in need. She was gentle with her touches, never pulling or scratching. She was very small, so it was easy for Bram to strap her to his back. And even when he could not, she was still when he carried her. Bramael grew to love her in a way he did not think he could. All the same, he was not alone in raising in her. Bram was not one to feel useless and still preferred to work despite being crippled. He had taken to crafting and had a particular knack for wood. He could bend and shape it like none of the carpenters could. With his experience with a bow, he knew exactly the weight and shape needed for the perfect hunting weapon. Before long, he was supplying the entire clan with bows and arrows. As he perfected his craft, other members of the clan offered aid to care for the young girl.

And as his work became better known, he began to teach his skill to others within the clan. Before long, they had bows and arrows beyond their need. The trade between the Lavellan clan and small shem villages was still positively prosperous. And the shems had never seen a bow quite like Bram's. It was not just hunters that sought his trade, it was farmers, common folk, marksman, and even the occasional noble in secret. Bram was making a rather large name for himself. And he wanted to better his abilities further. He wanted to stretch his reach. He wanted to be able to do business for himself. So he sought out Geneva and Falarah in hopes they could teach him to read and write. Geneva, of course, dismissed him. Falarah, however, was happy to teach him in his spare time. He would return to his aravel, to his daughter, and teach her what he had learned that day.

And then, at the age of four, Aeva was known to run the clan freely. Her father was always nearby, of course. But she was so familiar with the different faces of the people that cared for her, she was comfortable in any part of the camp. Even at a young age, her memory was sharp. And even though she was quiet, she was not shy and used her soft presence to observe others. Even the Keeper thought it remarkable at her ability to learn. She was ahead of the children in her year and it was suggested that she could begin her training at an early age.  
Bram was very proud of the child he took claim to. So proud that he began to watch her more closely than ever before. Aeva loved her father, dearly and it was obvious to the entire clan. She wanted to be a great hunter, just as he once was. She wanted to become the best hunter in the clan. And she wanted to use a bow that he would craft just for her. This would have been an honor for Bram. But Aeva was no longer the babe he had held before. She was growing. And she was becoming her own person. It was so strange that as many people as she interacted with, she had taken on a personality that was familiar to him... but not to her. She had also formed a round face, though it could have just been the simple fact that she was a child. Her hair was red and it was getting longer with each passing day. And her bright green eyes that he once looked down into with adoration now filled him with sorrow.

Keeper Deshanna was revered for her pace keeping within clan Lavellan. Those who spoke of her role often including the words "wise" and "respected" when describing her competence. Although both of these opinions of Deshanna's aspects are viable, there was no mistaking by those who knew her that Deshanna had a blind spot for predicaments that might cause distress. Confrontation was not her strong point. While she could rally and uplift her people, she could never deliver commands or end disputes. While she gracefully made her way through the camp, Cyris always followed. He was her eyes and ears. And more than often, her voice.

Cyris did not have the reputation of his master. He was known to slink through the camp, dipping through shadows and lingering longer than anticipated. The clan may not have accepted him as they did some of the other mages, but they recognized him as First. His ability to manipulate magic was drastically more noticeable than the others and some even claim he radiates with a strange energy. He will admit that he does this on purpose. Alas, Cyris was dubbed the bearer of bad news. Even with his dark stature, he maintained a cheerful, though sarcastic, demeanor. That being said, Cyris had developed a rather keen skill of predicting the actions of others. And from the moment he saw Bram hold Aeva for the first time, he knew that one day, Bram would collapse. For Aeva's sake, he had truly hoped it was sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, his prayers went unheard.


End file.
